I wanna cook right now–my name is chef Marquis and I get the job done; flour, sugar, eggs and milk. I came to stir up the town. Yall know my appetite: I take the cake from under the bakers thumb…

There’s a moment in life when you realize that you’re about to make it. My fingertips are close to clutching Mercedes keys, oh don’t call me vain or materialistic; we all want it I’m just secure enough to admit it. Yeah I’m somewhat internationally known and I’m ready to touchdown in London town. I was in Publix today buying cereal and this young lady approached me and said “hey, is your name…Marquis? I go to your blog all the time“–thank you, thank you, thank you–you’re far too kind. I get that alot actually, and I can’t even front, I knew this day would come sooner or later. Each day the hustle gets better and better. Shit just keeps falling into place. Damn being lucky, it’s called cookin in the kitchen. I be up late at night bakin while others keep opening up their ovens and they shit keep fallin–hey this is my callin.

In a handful of days our issue will be done,  I’m building me a chef academy–and once this restaurant is built we all eatin. I find it comical that I’m up at the crack of dawn-by myself-working by myself-hustin by myself. And as hard as I work I dare somebody tell me how I can spend my tongue.  I’m great. I know it. You know it. So what’s the problem? Put all your issues in an oven and let’s bake it.

“In America, they want you to accomplish these great feats, to pull off these David Copperfield-type stunts. You want me to be great, but you don’t ever want me to say I’m great?”-Kanye West